42. Bianca
Bianca
Warmth.
Not the heat of anger or the burn of shame.
Warm, soft fingers against fresh bruises.
Whispered assurances along torched skin, as if they alone can banish the pain.
I open my good eye to discover Marco hovering over me.
I’m lying in his lap on the ground in front of my house, and everything hurts.
My body, my mind, my heart. All three throb like broken bones.
Marco’s presence summons relieved tears to my eyes. Safe. The word rebounds through my head, like a herald announcing the end of a long, long war.
“You’re here.” I touch his jaw, just to affirm he’s real, that it’s him. His eyes flutter shut, and his chest inflates and deflates unevenly. “I’m sorry, Marco,” I wheeze. A vice crushes my chest with every rise and fall, but I need to get this out. “I was never going to hurt you. I love you.”
Silver rims his olive green eyes. “Shh. You have nothing to be sorry for, principessa.” He swipes a thumb across a tender spot on my cheek. “I should have known better. I do know better. And I’ll spend the rest of our lives begging for your forgiveness. I love you…god, do I love you.”
He kisses me carefully, his lips feathering over mine until I’m trembling in his arms.
Marco pulls back, tears sliding down his cheeks to mingle with mine. “Let’s go home.”
In the haven of his arms, I slip back into darkness, only this time, I know I’m going to be all right. Livia too. There’s motion and jostling and noise, but my senses are too dull to comprehend any of it until we’re home.
Step-by-step, the familiar walls of the Argento manor welcome me back, allowing me to take my first unburdened breath in days.
Marco carries me upstairs to his bedroom and runs a bath.
I sit on a wooden bench next to the jacuzzi-sized tub while he peels off my clothes and brushes a washcloth over the dried blood on my skin.
His eyes trace the bruises and burn marks decorating my flesh, particularly my back, and a deep rumble travels up from his chest and through his clenched teeth.
I bend forward, wincing as the motion jars the joint of my shoulder, and tilt his chin toward me. “Hey. It’s over now, okay? He won’t hurt me or Livia again. He can’t touch us anymore.”
The agony in my husband’s gaze as he meets mine nearly undoes me. He gently grasps my fingers in his. “I should have never sent you away, back to that fucking monster. You’re my wife, and you deserved my protection. I—”
Banging at his bedroom door shatters the moment. He exhales through his nose, presses a tender kiss to my wrist, and wraps a big soft towel around my shoulders before exiting the bathroom.
A second later, I hear Luca’s strained voice. “There are Councilors here. They’re downstairs demanding to know what happened at the Contis.”
Marco growls an order. “Stay here. I’ll go see what they want.”
Unfortunately for my husband, the old Bianca is dead, and the new one doesn’t like being told what to do. I also can’t let him confront the Councilors alone. We’re a team now. Now and forever.
Struggling to my feet, I grind my molars against the pain and dress in the nearby robe.
Clutching the fabric to me like a security blanket, I cautiously descend the stairs.
Halfway down, my energy threatens to crap out, and I cling to the handrail to avoid tumbling into the foyer, where voices echo off the walls.
Zanni stands alongside Pantalone, a smirking Leandro, and a grim-faced Ren. They’re blocking the front door, and the Councilors’ monstrous masks feel eerie and foreign juxtaposed against the newfound warmth of our home.
Marco slants me a silent look of admonishment, rolling his lips together as he rushes to the foot of the stairs to assist me.
“You’re not a very good listener, are you, principessa?
” He whispers just loud enough for me to hear as he tucks me into his side, and I hum innocently as we veer toward our visitors.
Luca shuffles to my other side, his posture relaxed, but I know him well enough to sense the lethal danger simmering beneath his facade.
Zanni claps his hands together, clearly pleased. “Well, you two look chummy. It’s good to see you finally getting along.” He acts as if we’re the reality show couple he spent all season rooting, and I lower my eyes before he notices the ire written all over my face.
Zanni steps forward, and Luca and Marco both tense. The Councilor ignores them, his attention focused solely on me. Although I can’t really see his eyes, the weight of his assessment is heavy.
“Your father clearly followed orders.” His fingers threaten to brush the opening of my robe until Marco grunts a low warning in the back of his throat. The Councilor dances back with a laugh, his hands up in a placating gesture. “Only teasing, Argento. Don’t be so territorial.”
Zanni slowly retreats toward Ren and slips an arm through the much larger man’s.
“Ren here was supposed to do the honors, but your father insisted on punishing you himself. Revolting man, by the way. Still, he did good work. It’s a shame I couldn’t be there to watch the show after what you did to my Library, but c’est la vie.
Nothing was lost, so I’ll consider us even for the time being.
But make no mistake, my patience doesn’t stretch much further than this, Bianca. ”
I square my shoulders, determined not to let Zanni frighten me. Like I said, the old Bianca is dead, and the new one possesses more backbone than ever.
At my side, Marco grows impatient with the intrusion. “You still haven’t explained why you’re here.”
Rather than showing offense, Zanni seems genuinely amused.
“Don’t be like that, Marco. Especially when I still have to clean up the mess you caused tonight.
A bomb threat was a bold choice.” The mask tilts toward Luca, and Zanni shakes his head as a short chuckle escapes him.
“Though, to be honest, I don’t appreciate having to deal with the feds so early in the morning. ”
Marco answers with a clipped tone. “It’s better than dealing with a bunch of dead civilians. Now, if that’s all, my wife needs her rest.”
Despite his polite phrasing, my husband’s “get the fuck out” sentiment is blatantly obvious.
Zanni goes dangerously quiet before sighing deeply.
“You’re right. This was inconsiderate of me.
To be honest, we were on our way here to kill you.
” He laughs as if murdering us in cold blood is a great punch line.
“Fortunately for you, Ren reviewed the security footage from the Conti estate and was kind enough to inform me that, technically, neither of you broke Code.”
I flick my eyes toward Ren. He offers no sign of recognition, his face entirely unreadable. Still, the air around him feels charged, heavy with the unmistakable promise of violence.
Abandoning Ren, Zanni shuffles away like a bored child. “For now, we’ll take our leave. Until next time.”
Leandro waves a farewell. “Remember, boys and girls, the Council is always watching.” He trails his boss and Pantalone as they head for the door.
Ren lingers for a second and then follows suit.
As Zanni and the others disappear into the dark, I peer up at Marco to see if he’s noticed the same thing that I have.
Zanni, Councilor extraordinaire and the most terrifying person I’ve ever met, just so happens to be left-handed.